


Drabble: Wontaek Space Gays

by LikeSatellites



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M, Space Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeSatellites/pseuds/LikeSatellites
Summary: Taekwoon remembers the first time he and Wonshik collided like two dreadfully fated asteroids, when Wonshik began speaking to Taekwoon in his home tongue, like he knew him. And now Taekwoon is the little bit of Earth that was crashed into that became the Earth’s Moon. Stuck forever following him.





	Drabble: Wontaek Space Gays

**Author's Note:**

> This is my drabble for @NecroticNymph on twitter. Thanks for commissioning me!! I hope this makes you happy!!!!

Taekwoon is standing by the pod bay door when Wonshik collapses through it, entirely in one piece, and entirely covered in space goo. 

“Whose goo is that now?” Taekwoon asks, lifting his tablet, hooked up to their ship’s mainframe, to scan Wonshik’s body for toxic waste or injury. 

“Just a Nimlock kid. Thought it would be funny to squirt me with toy plasma through the open window of my ship.” Wonshik wipes at his face and shakes his hand to dispel the excess goo onto their floor.

Taekwoon sighs, dropping the tablet to his side now that he’s realized Wonshik is covered in waste from a children’s gadget and not some poisonous sludge (like that time when he jumped from their ship into a steaming purple lake in Jorull (a completely poisonous lake, mind you), and had to be quarantined for six days). 

Wonshik wipes again at his face, greasing back his hair from his face to expose his thick, straight brows, and Taekwoon despises how easily the endearment rushes up to his face, pressing against the apples of his cheeks. 

“You’re smiling.”

Taekwoon tries to force the corners of his lips into a grimace, but it won’t come. He steps forward, into Wonshik’s arms. He smells like Nimlock--that gritty iron smell of rusted cargo ships. But beneath that, there’s that cloyingly familiar scent of just Wonshik. 

Wonshik is laughing now, arms tight around Taekwoon’s shoulders. “What’s this? Worried?”

“No,” Taekwoon mutters, forehead pressed to Wonshik’s throat, the inside of his mouth tasting oddly like the moment before rain.  

“Just a retrieval mission, Dr. Jung,” Wonshik teases, pulling back to run the rough pad of his gloved thumb over Taekwoon’s cheekbone. Wonshik always said he adored the strangely terrifying features of Taekwoon’s face. The way he looks almost like he could not be real. Like the face you swear you can see in your mind, but you never recognize in public. “No need to worry.”

Taekwoon huffs and steps back, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers like he does when he feels like crying but wants to feel like  _ not crying _ . “You know I can see when you go off course, right?”

Wonshik’s lips purse. He makes the face he always makes when Taekwoon discovers something about him that he thought he was so slick about before. Dark brows tugging together, jaw loose as if he’s about to speak. 

Taekwoon nods, throwing his arms up in the air. “Yes, that’s right. I see it all. I’ve seen you take the ship around to abandoned,  _ illegal _ cargo ports so you can dig through wreckages. I’ve seen you fire blasters at heaps of scrap metal that you formed  _ yourself. _ You know, with  _ all this free time you must have _ .”

Wonshik comes up behind him and coils his arms apologetically around Taekwoon’s waist, nuzzling into Taekwoon’s bare throat with moist, hot breath. “I did a bad.”

Taekwoon can’t stop nodding, knowing that if he stops, he’ll just start screaming. As if the movement of his skull upon his spinal column is what is winding him up to start. A wind-up toy that can never stop winding because, when it does, it will unleash the most terrifying screech ever unleashed. 

“Ok, the blaster thing I don’t really wanna own up for, but I will totally own up to the abandoned cargo port stops.”

Taekwoon can feel his brain starting to melt down into a puddle in his skull. “Will you now?”

Wonshik nods, the face of all innocence. He starts to walk down the creaky titanium hallway and into their private quarters. Taekwoon trails after him, wondering where his apology is going. 

Wonshik leans in close to the eye scanner at the door. A green light spills out over his face, and then the doors part. Wonshik begins loosening the straps criss-crossing his abdomen and hips, the ones hosting a blaster tucked under his armpit and the other, smaller blaster at his waist, along with pouches filled with backup ammunition and burn heal tonics. Taekwoon rushes over as Wonshik is about to drop them unceremoniously onto his-- _ their _ \--bed. Again.

He manages to clinch the leather folded holster of Wonshik’s small blaster before anything other than the tip of a belt touches his-- _ their _ \--sheets. 

Wonshik doesn’t react, just continues moving around his--

Around  _ their _ room, shedding layers of his suit, and Taekwoon allows himself to lift his head again from reading the inscription on the barrel of Wonshik’s blaster. It’s in Wonshik’s home language, Korean, the characters unfamiliar but beautifully smooth in the branded metal. Taekwoon remembers the first time he and Wonshik collided like two dreadfully fated asteroids, when Wonshik began speaking to Taekwoon in his home tongue, like he knew him. And now Taekwoon is the little bit of Earth that was crashed into that became the Earth’s Moon. Stuck forever following him. 

“Am I ever getting my apology?” Taekwoon croaks pitifully.

Wonshik stands in front of their chest of drawers, tugging his last undershirt off (it’s horribly stained. Was once white, Wonshik swears), and he grins as Taekwoon’s eyes trace every inch of Wonshik’s gorgeous tan skin that’s bared.

“Don’t distract me,” Taekwoon protests, turning to the little porthole, the single solitary window in their chambers that reminds them they’re drifting through space. Taekwoon’s home planet is very study, very large. He isn’t used to all this drifting. “I’ve been waiting for this apology for years.”

Wonshik starts fiddling with the buckle of his trousers, and Taekwoon can hear the metal clinking as they hit the floor. 

“I said--”

“I was rummaging through all that trash for  _ this _ ,” Wonshik says, suddenly right beside Taekwoon, and either his footsteps are incredibly quiet today or Taekwoon just blacked out a little. The heat of Wonshik’s body after three days of being separated makes the bottom layer of Taekwoon’s skin feel too tight. 

Taekwoon squinches his eyes shut, afraid that if he looks at Wonshik directly, he’ll catch fire. 

“Open your eyes, Dr. Jung. This is your apology,” Wonshik says, voice deep, that rumbly, soothing sound like a stalled ship engine. 

Taekwoon shakes his head, eyes still squeezed shut tight. Behind his eyelids, he can swear he sees Wonshik’s smirk, his disarmingly sweet soft cheeks lifted to expose his perfect little white teeth.

“Seriously, Taek, open ‘em,” Wonshik chuckles, prodding a finger into the puffy side of Taekwoon’s pale white cheek. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“If you’ve taken your penis out--” Taekwoon threatens.

Wonshik scoffs. “I would  _ never _ .”

“Just the other day,” Taekwoon recounts, but Wonshik is pulling at Taekwoon’s eyelids with his thumbs. Taekwoon squawks, flailing his arms, and opening his eyes in order to glare at Wonshik. He’s about to launch into another tirade, this time about how Wonshik had whipped his dick out to wave it through the front windshield at a passing galactic law enforcement ship (while yelling FUCK THE SPACE POLICE), when he sees a glint of rusted metal. “That’s--”

Wonshik is still grinning, smug as can be. “Still mad?”

Taekwoon snatches the object from Wonshik’s hands, rubbing at some of the rust and dirt. “This is my gun. This is my blaster.”

Wonshik nods, looking just as smug as Taekwoon can stand to see him with that dangerously handsome face. “That’s your gun. I found it just now. In Nimlock.”

“You were digging through rubbish to find my gun?” 

Wonshik pats Taekwoon lightly on the top of his head, ruffling the thick black waves of hair hanging around his face. “I was.”

Taekwoon brings the barrel up to his eye, blowing some of the dust away with a quick breath. “How did you know how to find my gun?” He can see the raised edges of his own brand, back from when he’d run with Hakyeon’s crew, back when he’d been less of a Doctor and more of an assassin. The barrel is slightly dented, and Taekwoon’s heart aches, as if it were trying to lurch up out of his body.

“I didn’t. It was guesswork. But I remember you describing it. It was like your baby, huh?”

Taekwoon cradles the rusty blaster to his chest and gazes down at it lovingly. “Yes. We went through a lot together.”

“Hard to imagine you, Mr. There Are Over 600 Galactic Laws Being Broken Right Now, carrying this blaster, let alone  _ using it _ ,” Wonshik admits, winding his arms back around Taekwoon’s middle and pressing his cool fingertips to the bare skin just beneath the hem of Taekwoon’s shirt. 

“I could out-shoot you anyday, Mr. Breaks 600 Galactic Laws By Lunch.” Taekwoon spins around in Wonshik’s arms, still cradling his blaster. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I thought you were...I don’t know…”

“Ravishing Maorakian ladies in an alien brothel?” 

Taekwoon snorts. “No Maorakian lady would let you anywhere near her. You’re always covered in soot and some kind of goo.”

“But you were still worried, weren’t you?”

“I’m a much better shot than you,” Taekwoon repeats, suddenly reliving all the nightmares he’s had of Wonshik collapsing through their pod bay doors, soaked in his own blood, wheezing for air, declaring he’s about to expire. 

“But I’m not a  _ bad  _ shot, Taek,” Wonshik murmurs, cradling Taekwoon’s face in his warm hands.

“I can’t believe you found my gun,” Taekwoon whimpers, leaning into the heat from Wonshik’s palms. His blood runs so hot. 

“Aren’t I great?”

Taekwoon nods a bit, before realizing his mistake. In a moment, Wonshik has gleefully thrown Taekwoon over his shoulder and tossed him onto their bed. Taekwoon nearly screeches as Wonshik pulls away his blaster, and there’s soot and rust on Taekwoon’s hands now. Wonshik comes back to the bed with a wet towel, wiping away the residue as he coaxes Taekwoon’s lips open in a kiss. 

“There are no more lost treasures for you to present whenever you make a mistake, you know,” Taekwoon pants between them as Wonshik undoes his trousers. 

“I won’t make anymore mistakes,” Wonshik says, nipping at the skin of Taekwoon’s throat, humming when the pale white flesh blooms pink beneath his lips. “Now please, it’s been so long--”

Taekwoon grips into Wonshik’s bleached blond spiky hair and tugs, legs bared and wrapped around Wonshik’s waist now. “Fine, fine. Since you  _ did  _ find my blaster. And  _ didn’t _ ravish any Maorakian ladies.”

“Come now, Dr. Jung,” Wonshik says, devilishly warm fingers wrapped around Taekwoon’s cock, tugging in just that way Taekwoon lights. “Let’s not fight.”

Taekwoon arches up, easy as anything, and Wonshik holds the two of them together, stroking in his tight grip, until Taekwoon finally breaks. Wonshik presses his chapped lips to Taekwoon’s high cheekbones, his forehead matted with sweaty hair, and his nose. 

“We’ll get your blaster all fixed up next time we’re stationed somewhere,” Wonshik promises, brushing away the slick hair from Taekwoon’s face and back onto the pillow, fanned around his head. “Then you can prove what a good shot you are.”

“Four years ago, and I would’ve probably been assigned to kill you, you know,” Taekwoon says, breathless still, as Wonshik curls up against his side. “Since you’re such a galactic menace.”

“Never would’a caught me.”

“Oh, but I already have,” Taekwoon says.

 


End file.
